


Leave Us This Time

by amadridlover



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, M/M, because i am sad about everyone getting older, i miss xavi, um this is a bit late, why can't we stop time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadridlover/pseuds/amadridlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrés hears about Xavi leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Us This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Oh Very Young by Cat Stevens. 
> 
> This was written a few months back, in June, when Xavi was unveiled officially as a player for Al-Sadd. It still doesn't make sense to see Xavi not at Barcelona.

“So, it’s done then?” a voice asks, from inside the room. Xavi takes a step closer, trying to identify its source. And that’s when he sees him. Standing in a corner, his face whiter than usual, hands against the wall, bracing himself. Keeping himself upright. His eyes are red and Xavi feels sick.

Andres slowly slides down the wall, coming to a crouch. It’s an unnatural position for him, and Xavi can see his knees shaking.

“Andres—“, he begins, but he doesn’t know what he wants to say, or at least, doesn’t know how to say it.

“I thought we were going to wait? I thought we had an agreement?” the younger man says, letting his hurt lace his words. Xavi blinks, frozen, unable to move. “I thought you were going to stick it out one more year. I thought you said we were going to do this together.”

Xavi’s stomach convulses, and he wants to bend over and hurl, hurl until it all comes out. It wasn’t meant to be this way. He never meant it to be like this.

He takes a step closer to Andres, and falters, unsure. Andres turns his accusing eyes away from him, staring at the ground. Xavi can feel his raw emotions, doesn’t need to hear him admit anything. The evidence is clear on his face, but also in Xavi’s heart. He shudders.

Andres grips the Barca shirt he is wearing, pulling it away from his chest desperately, taking deep breaths, breaths that aren’t enough. He feels numb, cold. His shirt is suffocating him.

Xavi reaches out, tries to still Andres’ hands.

“Stop now,” he murmurs, “you’re going to tear your shirt.” His voice sounds foreign to him, there’s something in the way. Xavi tells himself it’s because he’s tired, but his mouth tastes like metal and something sour. He swallows it down, clamps his mouth shut.  

The blue and red that had always felt like home to him does nothing to calm Xavi’s nausea. He feels dirty touching it and tries to let go. Andres doesn’t let him, his fingers meeting his own and closing in around them, keeping Xavi’s grip firm on the material.

Andres’ lips are moving, forming silent words. Xavi looks at him but the younger man’s eyes are glassed over, not recognising him anymore.

_We were meant to be invincible. Look what has happened to us,_ Xavi thinks. _Look what we have been brought to._

His friend’s trembling is contagious, and Xavi starts to shake. He grimaces as his stomach churns, hating the taste on his tongue. His body is shutting down on him, no longer in his control and he is slumping against Andres’ frail form, unable to keep his weight off him. They fall back into the wall, and Andres gasps at the sudden movement, flailing with his arms. Their knees knock together and Xavi grunts at the impact. He grips onto Andres’ shirt, attempting to balance himself but Andres isn’t expecting the added weight and they crash onto the floor, the younger man crying out as he falls on his elbow. The pain is short lived, because he looks up at Xavi with these eyes, eyes that are asking a million questions and he feels lost. He _aches_.

They are on the floor, looking at each other, their legs entwined and bent awkwardly, obstructed by the closeness of the wall. Andres’ head is full of accusations at his teammate, he wants to hit him, shake him, hug him, hold him, tear him apart like he was tearing _him_ apart. Andres can’t stop trembling.

And Xavi—Xavi just looks at him with wide eyes; mournful eyes. Andres knows he is about to cry again. He presses his lips shut, desperately trying to pull himself together. Xavi opens his mouth to speak but Andres shakes his head, silencing him. He takes an unsteady breath, tries to calm his shaking body.

“Just tell me why, Xavi,” he begs the older man, meeting his eyes and seeing him properly all at once, every little detail. Andres takes him in desperately, from the gel in his hair, to the arch of his eyebrows. He tries to memorise the length of his nose, the curve of his lips.

The thought of being at Barcelona without Xavi terrifies him.

“Why now?” Andres continues his careful analysis of Xavi’s face, reaching with his hands to cup his cheeks, touch his hair, stroke his eyebrows with his thumbs. It was all going, and with it, a person he had come to admire over the many years. (A person he had come to love.)

Xavi sits still under Andres’ ministrations, watching him with those intelligent eyes of his, saying nothing, feeling everything. Andres’ touch is careful, gentle—reverent. Xavi hates the way his fingers hesitate, the constant waver against his skin. He knows he is the reason, and he hates himself for it.

“Por qué, Capi?” he whispers, his face pained as he finally lets out an anguished sob. He doesn’t halt his movements and Xavi’s heart breaks. He covers Andres’ hands with his own, keeping them against his cheeks, encasing them completely.

Andres won’t stop shaking. He only means it as a consoling gesture when he presses his mouth to Andres’ in a chaste kiss. He pulls back suddenly, surprised at his action but more worried about his teammate’s reaction. He raises an eyebrow in concern but Andres shakes his head, reaching around Xavi’s neck to pull him close again.

Andres closes his eyes and kisses Xavi, his lips firm, taking whatever it is that the older man is offering, and he feels like he can finally breathe.

The kiss could be platonic, there is no lust involved. All Andres thinks is how much he needs, needs, needs Xavi to breathe properly; how he didn’t even realise he needed to breathe until Xavi showed him.

Andres tugs on Xavi’s hair, his shirt, he presses himself as close as he can, moulding them together for a short time. (It might have been forever.) Xavi’s thumbs stroke at his sides, feeling his stomach jolt at the contact. He doesn’t know how it got to this point but his breathing is loud, panting, as he kisses Andres again; kissing his mouth more forcefully, drinking from it. And it feels good. His heart is breaking and mending at the same time and Xavi is unsure if this is wise, if he should stop, but it feels right and for the moment that is all that seems to matter; Andres’ soft, pink lips.

Andres moves his hands to Xavi’s shoulders and holds on. His grip is needy and he whines uncontrollably against his teammate’s probing mouth. Andres’ whine becomes a deep moan as Xavi’s pressure suddenly increases and – God, did he just bite him?

Their hands are roaming, searching, gripping, scratching on pale skin, each trying to get closer to one another. Xavi’s head is spinning. He is losing control. All he knows is he needs more; to feel more. He reaches down Andres’ back, under the waistband of his shorts and grabs a handful of his ass. Andres’ eyes widen but he sighs at the touch, collapses into Xavi.

Xavi feels as if his mind is no longer connected to his body, as if he is processing the situation as a bystander, an outsider. And that’s what allows him to go on. He isn’t over-thinking every little detail, he isn’t analysing all his actions. Xavi isn’t telling himself that he is taking advantage of Andres in his vulnerable state, that he is using his friend’s brokenness to his own advantage, to achieve something he had always wanted but knew he could never have.

(Andres bucks into Xavi’s wandering hand.)

Instead Xavi is letting himself let go, guided by a visceral need he had buried deep within himself for a very long time. Right now, it is being uncovered. Years of care and caution, being thrown into the wind. If Xavi had any semblance of his usual self-control he would be telling himself to stop, turn back, apologise to Andres and hope that his friend would forgive him.

(Andres pushes his shorts and boxers down, past the curve of his soft ass.)

Xavi thought his depth of affection for the other man was not equally returned. It had always hurt him, but he had forced himself to accept it. Better to be friends, than to lose Andres from his life. But right now, Xavi is allowing himself to forget. He’s allowing himself to believe. And it feels real to him. He isn’t over-analysing, he is allowing himself to—

“Xavi, come back to me,” Andres cries softly, fingering his check, gripping his shoulders. Xavi is unsure about the double meaning of his words, wether Andres means it or not. He doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep. “ _Please._ ”

Xavi nods, and hopes that he’s understood Andres correctly, because Xavi can do that. He can give himself to the younger man completely now, right now, but as for later, that won’t be in his control. He fits his hand between them, reaches down and tugs on Andres’ cock. Twice.

Andres shuts his eyes and takes an unsteady breath, his mouth slightly open as it drags along Xavi’s cheek. He clings to him desperately, and Xavi thinks that maybe he is wrong to doubt him. Maybe Andres just wants as much of Xavi as he is able to give, before it’s out of his control. His heart wrenches at the thought. _Andres wants him._

He has no time. They’ve run out completely. Xavi’s hand starts a rhythm.

Andres moans.

(Xavi regrets.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love. Please let me know what you think! <333


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